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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874643">Count to Three and You'll be All Grown Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questioning_TrashCan/pseuds/Questioning_TrashCan'>Questioning_TrashCan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Count to Three and You'll be All Grown Up [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Coming of Age, Drabble Collection, Gen, Growing Up, Original Universe, Royalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:46:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questioning_TrashCan/pseuds/Questioning_TrashCan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up in three parts</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Count to Three and You'll be All Grown Up [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpotidSalamango/gifts">SpotidSalamango</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! So, this whole idea started as a roleplay between me and my gf @SpotidSalamango which is still ongoing. I wanted to develop my main muse, Cecilia, more, so I wrote these drabbles in a day or so.</p><p>Please let me know what you think, I love feedback!</p><p>For those interested, she did her own piece nearly a year ago (holy shit), centering around Rose and a character not mentioned in this iteration: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313237</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pitter patter of bare feet on decorated marble sound throughout the ballroom as a little half elf girl with hair as white as snow and eyes as blue as the sky mimes an energetic dance she’d seen royals performing together the night previous. There is no music, but she could remember the tune so clearly that there might as well have been. The grand ballroom covered from floor to ceiling in stained glass and golden adornments had not had time to be polished since then – thus the perfect time to dance with bare feet and get marks all over it. </p><p>Cecilia had learned through trial and error what she can and cannot get away with. She can get away with a lot, provided she play her cards right. </p><p>Make a mess right before a scheduled cleaning.<br/>
Don’t make a sound at night while studying in the library.<br/>
Make sure chef doesn’t catch you sneaking a midnight snack.<br/>
Practice what you see and hear.</p><p>Cecilia Ravawynn is the youngest of seven sisters, princesses, yet her days are as empty as this unpolished, dawn-soaked ballroom. The room spins in time with her and she imagines the chandelier as a spinning top as she looks up to it and windmills around – a disgraceful deviation from the poise of the original dance, but definitely more fun. She glances to one window as her dance comes to a staggering halt and she loses her footing, falling on her side.</p><p>She knows what catches her attention. The figure in the glass is a depiction of Elana, the Goddess of Balance. Quickly scrambling to her knees, she bows to it, as if caught by the rich colours. The portrait only continues to smile down at her, and Cecilia says a quick prayer in her family’s tongue, an ancient, elven language by the same name as the lineage that gifted it. Only the worthy, and those of the right blood, were permitted to know it.</p><p>She raises her head when the prayer is done and she hears her name echoing through the hallways. Someone is looking for her. She nods to the portrait that hasn’t moved, then scampers towards the huge, shining staircase, scooping up her flats with one hand as she runs up the stairs.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cecilia Ravawynn sits alone at a stone pavilion, on the steps where the sun reaches her and warms her wind-chilled face, pouring over texts she’d borrowed from the library in an attempt to understand the ones she’d already borrowed that were filled with euphemisms and lettering she didn’t understand. <i>People sure used to write weird,</i> she thinks bitterly as she decodes yet more terms she’d never heard of.</p><p>Summers spent outside were among Cecilia’s favourite pastimes. Her kingdom was so frosty year round that the height of Summer was the only time the snow ever melted and the garden was presentable. She took advantage of the scenery when she could, and put the book aside to simply look around her. Look at the butterflies that danced through the air and landed on flowers that were just beginning to open. Look at the clouds that rolled through the sky with no threat of snow, and enjoyed the warmth of a sun she rarely saw.</p><p><i>Better with company,</i> Cecilia mused absentmindedly, and stood, taking her staff with her. It’s a gorgeous thing, crafted with care, imbued with so much magic that she can feel it buzzing in her hand when she holds it, and sculpted to resemble the moon that she draws her power from. It’s embedded with its stones, reflecting glassy. <i>Like a dead person’s eyes,</i> Cecilia thinks, remembering her Grandfather’s passing. She’d been too young then to know of death, and looked upon him without hesitation. It didn’t bother her so much, really, but the memory haunts her if she allows herself to think on it too long.</p><p>Cecilia practises chants she’d learned from books, trying various different pronunciations before landing on the right ones. She made the wind blow, and the flowers bloom. The commotion caused small critters to come out of hiding and curiously watch. This was not what she had in mind when she thought of company, but she didn’t turn the sparrows and dormice away. In fact, she crouched and beckoned them to her. One brave bird hopped closer and mounted her finger, and Cecilia smiled. “Hello,” she greeted, and cocked her head. The sparrow cocked its head in kind, and Cecilia giggled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cecilia Ravawynn is dressed expensively, and decorated like a glittering ballroom. She herself is pale, her hair paler, her eyes a stark blue in contrast. But dressed in sheer, glittery greens and blues and solid whites and lavenders with equally glittery jewels hanging from every place one can imagine jewels hanging from, Cecilia Ravawynn is positively <i>blinding.</i></p><p>In her hand is the darkest part of her ensemble, the deep silver of hand-crafted metalwork. The staff she was gifted at age ten. The day she received it was much less her tenth birthday and much more the day she received her prized staff.</p><p>Now eighteen, Cecilia’s coronation is immediately imminent.  She is dressed for it. She is decorated for it. She is prepared for it. Yet she is terrified.</p><p>This is a big deal, more so than what is normal. All her sisters’ coronations were formal, yes, but not  like this. Their coronations doubled as suitor balls, and three had already moved to other kingdoms by the time Cecilia’s own coronation came about.</p><p>But this one was different. This one was about her, and it would not double as a suitor ball. Not officially, anyway. Anyone who dared was welcome to offer their hand, but this was only a coronation. Because Cecilia, despite being the youngest, was being given the title of <i>Crown Princess.</i></p><p>Usually this title goes to the oldest child – but when magic was at play, the title is reserved until the family has stopped having children, and identified the strongest magic user. Cecilia fit the description, and thus was titled Crown Princess.</p><p>She would serve Ferrian well as a ruler when it came to pass that her Mother, Rose, could no longer. She had been trained in etiquette and educated on many subjects by the finest scholars Ferrian had to offer. She was quick with her quips, a much less desirable trait, and was always thinking. She had discovered and honed her magic all on her own. She was always eager to learn more, and to throw herself into the game of crowns, trades, and war. This is what she was bred and born for, after all. Succession had been on her mind for years, but her coronation was what made it feel real.</p><p>It was a grand affair. The massive ballroom that she could hardly see the opposing wall of as she descended the stairs was packed with people – extended family she hadn’t seen in years, some nobles she recognized, and others she didn’t. The celebration was already in full effect when she made her appearance, and came to a screeching, grinding, hushing halt as she was announced, for this was the moment Crown Princess Cecilia Ravawynn was titled.</p><p>At the bottom of the stairs, Cecilia spots three of her sisters. The eldest, Lila, the fifth, Cordelia, and the sixth, Lacie. She knew they were all somewhere, waiting to be discovered, but she puts it out of her mind as her Mother descends the stairs opposing the flight Cecilia had taken, meeting her at the fork. </p><p>Cecilia takes a knee as gracefully as she was trained, and Rose beckons over the servant with her crown resting on a luxurious pillow. She plucks the crown from him and speaks.</p><p>“Cecilia Ravawynn. You are the seventh Princess of Ferrian, my own flesh and blood. From today, you are the Crown Princess of Ferrian, my first successor, and your generations’ most powerful.” She places the crown on Cecilia’s head, settling it nicely along the braided crown of hair her petulant servant had insisted worked best with the dress she’d had made. She was right, Cecilia noted, but the crown still felt heavier than she’d expected, and she suspected it had nothing to do with the weight of the actual jewels.</p><p>“Rise, daughter,” Rose smiles, and Cecilia stands. The captive audience erupts in cheers and shouts of congratulations, then settles back down into chatter and dance as the music begins again.</p><p>The celebrations last for three days and nights. People cycle in and out of their guest rooms, in and out of the palace.</p><p>Cecilia dances for as long as her feet will carry her, mingling with some nobles she recognizes and others she doesn’t. Accepting every proposition of a dance but making none of her own. To her surprise, no one dares a marriage proposal – perhaps word got out that this was not to be a suitor ball. Or perhaps no man finds her charming enough to put up with in marriage. That’s perfectly fine.</p><p>The tables lining the walls under stained glass figures are always stocked with food, made fresh and cycled in and out by staff that she makes sure to personally thank every time she catches them at the table. “Nonsense, your Highness,” one of her oldest servants says. “Enjoy the celebrations. Don’t worry about us.”</p><p>So, perhaps a little tipsy from wine they had started serving a few hours ago, Cecilia does. She dances and eats and drinks to her heart’s content, and among the lavishness of it all, Cecilia feels invigorated, alive, present. She feels as if she is the one buzzing with energy, not her staff that she had left to her personal servant to take back to her room as soon as the crowning was done. She spins under the chandelier as one eligible boy releases her hand for her to spin into the embrace of another, and thinks of a time when she was much smaller and emptier.</p>
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